The White Lioness Read Online Free Page A
office.
Wallander reported in detail his meeting with Robert Akerblom.
"A mother of two and religious," Bjork said, when Wallander had finished. "Missing since Friday. Doesn't sound good."
"No," Wallander said. "It doesn't sound good at all."
Bjork eyed him shrewdly. "You think there's been a crime?"
Wallander shrugged. "I don't really know what I think," he said. "But this isn't a straightforward missing person case. I'm sure of it. That's why we ought to mobilise the appropriate resources from the start. Not apply the usual wait-and-see tactics."
Bjork nodded. "I agree," he said. "Who do you want? Don't forget we're understaffed as long as Hansson's away. He managed to pick just the wrong moment to break his leg."
"Martinsson and Svedberg," Wallander said. "By the way, did Svedberg pin down the young bull that was careering along the E14?"
"A farmer got it with a lasso in the end," Bjork said, glumly. "Svedberg twisted his ankle when he tumbled into a ditch. But he's still at work."
Wallander stood up. "I'll drive to Skurup now," he said. "Let's get together at 4.30 and sort out what we know. We'd better start looking for her car right away."
He put a piece of paper on Bjork's desk.
"Toyota Corolla, dark blue," Bjork said. "I'll see to it."
Wallander drove from Ystad to Skurup. He needed time to think, and took the coast road. A wind was picking up. Jagged clouds were racing across the sky. He could see a ferry from Poland on its way into the harbour. When he got to Mossby Beach, he drove down to the deserted car park and stopped by the boarded-up hamburger stand. He stayed in the car, thinking about the previous year, when a rubber dinghy had drifted into land just here, with two dead bodies in it. He thought about Baiba Liepa, the woman he'd met in Riga. Interesting that he hadn't managed to forget her, despite his best efforts. A year ago, and he was still thinking about her all the time.
A murdered woman was the last thing he needed right now. What he needed was peace and quiet. He thought about his father getting married. About the burglary and all the music he'd lost. It felt as if someone had robbed him of a significant portion of his life.
He thought about his daughter Linda, at college in Stockholm. He had the feeling that he was losing touch with her. It was too much, all at once.
He got out of the car, zipped up his jacket and walked to the beach. The air was chilly, and he was cold.
He went over in his mind what Akerblom had said, tried various theories yet again. Could there be a natural explanation, despite everything? Could she have committed suicide? He thought of her voice on the telephone. Her eagerness.
Shortly before 1 p.m. Wallander left the beach and continued his way towards Skurup.
He could not shake off the conviction that Louise Akerblom was dead.
CHAPTER THREE
Kurt Wallander had a recurring daydream, which he suspected he shared with a lot of other people: that he'd pulled off the ultimate bank robbery and astounded the world. He wondered how much money was generally kept at a medium-sized bank. Less than one might think? But more than enough? He didn't have any idea how he'd go about it, yet the fantasy kept recurring. He grinned at the thought. But the grin quickly gave way to the stirrings of a guilty conscience.
They would never find Louise Akerblom alive. He had no evidence; there was no crime scene, no body. And yet he knew.
He couldn't get the photograph of the two girls out of his mind. How do you explain what it's not possible to explain? How will Robert Akerblom be able to go on praying to his God in the future, the God who's left him and two children so cruelly in the lurch?
Wallander wandered around the Savings Bank at Skurup, waiting for the assistant manager who had helped Louise Akerblom with the property deal the previous Friday to come back from the dentist. When Wallander had arrived at the bank a quarter of an hour earlier, he had talked with the manager,
Wallander reported in detail his meeting with Robert Akerblom.
"A mother of two and religious," Bjork said, when Wallander had finished. "Missing since Friday. Doesn't sound good."
"No," Wallander said. "It doesn't sound good at all."
Bjork eyed him shrewdly. "You think there's been a crime?"
Wallander shrugged. "I don't really know what I think," he said. "But this isn't a straightforward missing person case. I'm sure of it. That's why we ought to mobilise the appropriate resources from the start. Not apply the usual wait-and-see tactics."
Bjork nodded. "I agree," he said. "Who do you want? Don't forget we're understaffed as long as Hansson's away. He managed to pick just the wrong moment to break his leg."
"Martinsson and Svedberg," Wallander said. "By the way, did Svedberg pin down the young bull that was careering along the E14?"
"A farmer got it with a lasso in the end," Bjork said, glumly. "Svedberg twisted his ankle when he tumbled into a ditch. But he's still at work."
Wallander stood up. "I'll drive to Skurup now," he said. "Let's get together at 4.30 and sort out what we know. We'd better start looking for her car right away."
He put a piece of paper on Bjork's desk.
"Toyota Corolla, dark blue," Bjork said. "I'll see to it."
Wallander drove from Ystad to Skurup. He needed time to think, and took the coast road. A wind was picking up. Jagged clouds were racing across the sky. He could see a ferry from Poland on its way into the harbour. When he got to Mossby Beach, he drove down to the deserted car park and stopped by the boarded-up hamburger stand. He stayed in the car, thinking about the previous year, when a rubber dinghy had drifted into land just here, with two dead bodies in it. He thought about Baiba Liepa, the woman he'd met in Riga. Interesting that he hadn't managed to forget her, despite his best efforts. A year ago, and he was still thinking about her all the time.
A murdered woman was the last thing he needed right now. What he needed was peace and quiet. He thought about his father getting married. About the burglary and all the music he'd lost. It felt as if someone had robbed him of a significant portion of his life.
He thought about his daughter Linda, at college in Stockholm. He had the feeling that he was losing touch with her. It was too much, all at once.
He got out of the car, zipped up his jacket and walked to the beach. The air was chilly, and he was cold.
He went over in his mind what Akerblom had said, tried various theories yet again. Could there be a natural explanation, despite everything? Could she have committed suicide? He thought of her voice on the telephone. Her eagerness.
Shortly before 1 p.m. Wallander left the beach and continued his way towards Skurup.
He could not shake off the conviction that Louise Akerblom was dead.
CHAPTER THREE
Kurt Wallander had a recurring daydream, which he suspected he shared with a lot of other people: that he'd pulled off the ultimate bank robbery and astounded the world. He wondered how much money was generally kept at a medium-sized bank. Less than one might think? But more than enough? He didn't have any idea how he'd go about it, yet the fantasy kept recurring. He grinned at the thought. But the grin quickly gave way to the stirrings of a guilty conscience.
They would never find Louise Akerblom alive. He had no evidence; there was no crime scene, no body. And yet he knew.
He couldn't get the photograph of the two girls out of his mind. How do you explain what it's not possible to explain? How will Robert Akerblom be able to go on praying to his God in the future, the God who's left him and two children so cruelly in the lurch?
Wallander wandered around the Savings Bank at Skurup, waiting for the assistant manager who had helped Louise Akerblom with the property deal the previous Friday to come back from the dentist. When Wallander had arrived at the bank a quarter of an hour earlier, he had talked with the manager,
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